Life Is Beautiful, A Supernatural Fanfiction
by Obsidian.Clarity.1991
Summary: Dean Winchester has been saved. Sam Winchester is running head first down a dark road. Sarah Casey has a dark past, but in the life, who doesn't? Feeling like she's been a burden for as long as she can remember, she will do anything to be useful as the apocalypse looms over the world.
1. Chapter 1: Imaginary

Chapter One; Sarah.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had this strange understanding that the world was stretching far beyond what most could see, hear, feel, taste, and smell. Embraced in warm fleece blankets, peering at nothing over my Father's shoulder, my grey eyes connected with those of a woman with long caramel tresses and white eyes; Pure white. I did not cry, I did not fear. Infant curiosity followed my inspection as a small coo escaped my parted lips, and the woman's features turned up in an adoring smile. Her apparition faded in a blinding white light, and she rested.

Then, lying in my crib, a warm hand would lightly brush back the soft stray wisps of golden hair from my face. My breathing would speed in excitement, and timeless amber eyes would smile down upon me, bearing a gift of calming serenity that guaranteed a long, fulfilling rest, leaving behind a soft laughter that seemed to fill the room.

As a young child, my best friend and I would play dollies, combing through their hair and babbling on about how beautiful they were as though the small figurines would appreciate and consider the affection. Abby's parents never came to pick her up, however. In the foster home I ended up being raised in, I believed she was my sister. Everybody was rude to her. They pretended as though she never existed.

Imaginary friends- that's what I was told those people were. 'Sarah, you're too old for such idle fantasies. Ignore them and you'll see. They will go away'.

As I lived my life, trying to ignore the many friends I supposedly brought upon myself, those people became more and more desperate and agitated when I met them. By the time I turned twelve, I had finally rid myself of my first imaginary friend.

His name was October, an eight year old native whose home was destroyed in response to a development and construction plan with created the apartment I had then resided in with my foster family, a small boy and his grandmother. The small boy would terrify me, reaching for me in earnest, begging for help in words I didn't understand as the radio or T.V. would crackle menacingly. My family tried convincing me it was an electric failure and I didn't bother telling them what I saw, or what I knew was there. Truthfully, I feared for their safety. I slept with my foster parent Theresa, the elderly woman, telling her I feared the dark.

In October, with his name mentioned regularly, he started being forceful. Grabbing me, yelling audibly, and throwing things at a distinct panel of the wall. I lashed out in terror one night, angrily kicking at the wall where the panel wouldn't remain in place from October's many relentless attempts at getting my attention. A small stuffed toy fell to my feet, limp and dirty. I picked it up curiously and he flickered from existence before my eyes.

"Is this what you wanted all along?"

He pushed the figurine out of my hands, form flickering shockingly fast, and one of its tiny beaded eyes shattered on the let out a sigh of relief, and babbled at me again. October motioned to a lighter resting on the counter, and once I finally realized how to get it to work, I placed the toy on a plate so it wouldn't burn anything else and lit the toy on fire.

Though I was thrown back into the organization for a new family, October ended peacefully.

In total, I've dealt successfully with two dozen 'friends' between having a life with many foster families and my studies. Nobody wanted to keep me around- I think my file must've stated somewhere "Danger: Keep at your own risk". Yet, as I sat in those same rooms for days on end waiting for my file to be changed up and waiting for some kind soul to try to put up with me, all I really wanted was a home.

By the time I turned sixteen and became interested in going to college for psychology and writing, the number of restless spirits I encountered on campus was unreasonably high. I seemed to be a beacon of their interest, as though a light resonating from me that told them I was someone who could send them to the real light. The second I stepped onto the grounds, six young men and two women surrounded me, screaming at me in relief and despair. Their voices were a strange reverberation in the air, like the static of an old television being switched on. I covered my ears, wincing as the sound rose in volume, and went through with the tour, though I was positive that I wouldn't be able to handle all the stress anytime soon.

About two years after that, I could deal with crowds of spirits without hearing the faintest ring of the unbearably high pitched ring spirits held. In fact, as it faded into lower, clearer sounds and not hectic buzzes, each person's voice became understandable to me, and I could talk them through their crisis and avert messy situations.

That's when I became interested in exorcism and met a hunter who taught me everything he knew; Most importantly that they really weren't imaginary friends, but restless spirits who wanted my help to reach the light. I picked up on the hunter lifestyle relatively easily given my upbringing of being forcibly moved around. My gift aided in the finding and expelling of particularly angry ghosts and, eventually, demons looking for peace.

The spiritual sector of the supernatural is where I've professionally exerted my particular talents since then. As of a week ago, my expedition called for a field trip.

Down a rain painted, deep grey, gravel road I walked, my muddy, worn ankle-high leather boots hitting the pavement with dull thuds. A harsh breeze blew through this ghost town of Georgia, fiery autumn leaves bowing under the force, and I felt my cheeks brighten at the brisk stinging cold. Taking a deep breath and feeling tired as hell, I turned into a coffee shop, not bothering with the busted door but stepping through the shattered glass of the broken shop window, rubbing my hands together once I was deeply inside the walls and the breeze had toned down a bit. All of the machinery still seemed to be in working order, save for a broken wire, so I began rewiring the boiler to fix myself a warm cup of coffee. Everything was so dead silent, I hardly wanted to move. There weren't even lost souls. The town was just as it appeared; Empty.

The silence, so thick, shattered with the glass in the streets as sparks flew from my attempt at rewiring the device in my hands. This caused me to bristle and quickly brandish my beloved dagger. Made of silver, finished with iron edges, this blade could fatally injure a great variety of monsters. Engraved in the silver were many runes and emblems, including a tiny devils trap at the middle that once piercing the demon renders them captured and powerless, and anti-destruction charms. More shattering pursued the first, the ground rumbling in its wake, and I walked out cautiously. Before I reached the centre of the street to see what approached me, I blinked and stared into the sky with slack-jawed bewilderment.

Light bulbs, shop windows, car windshield's, and even a town clock showered shards down onto the streets, as through a great force was barreling towards me. Amongst this impressive power, a higher pitch than I'd ever met screeched at me, though behind it somehow I could comprehend a male voice speaking, searching for survivors.

"I-I am here," I offered hesitantly, calling up into the distance. The destructive path halted, whispering to me soothingly, assuring my safety. I sheathed my dagger into my belt carefully, never looking away from the silvery cloud lining above me. The ringing did not stop, and I winced against the power, giving me something of a migraine with its fierce power. The screech steadily continued to clear as my power reached a new boundary, becoming much easier for me to interpret. "What's your name?" I asked, and the power whispered to me kindly, asking me a favour.

"Write what you hear as you hear it." He requested.

"Will I see you again?"

"Soon." The word hung in the air as the cloud flashed upwards and out of my sight, disappearing from the town. My blond hair rose and fell with the wind brushing my lips gently. Just as I pushed it gently behind my ear, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I snapped it open.

My voice shook slightly, my mind still reeling with bewilderment. "Hello, Jennifer Casey, how may I help you?"

"Sarah, it's me." A familiar joking voice, always sounding full of sarcastic humour, corrected my name.

"Oh, hi, Rufus. How's it going on your end?" I asked kindly, smiling slightly.

"Not too badly, I've picked up reports of lightning storms and population thinning around the area you're at now. I'm going to go out on a stretch and say you've found just about as much as a preacher reading from a bible for the three hundredth time."

"Don't crack on religion; It's rude." I scold. "But you _are_ right. There isn't a soul here."

"Have you inspected the rest of the shoe yet?"

I snorted and covered my eyes with a groan. "You didn't."

Abrupt loud laughter filled the phone line and I couldn't help but grin a little. "I'm just outside Alabama, but it's getting pretty late. Make your way into Atlanta and I'll pick you up in the morning. We're going to Dakota to visit a friend of mine. Old man probably needs my help."

"Okay. See ya."

"Yeah, yeah." The line disconnected, and I close my phone with a resounding snap and throw it into my backpack which I pulled safely over my shoulders while I found and mounted my borrowed Honda Evo6, bringing it to life and leaving the abandoned town behind with dust in the wind.

A few hours past when through the darkness of the night I spotted what I believed would be a safe location to rest. It was called Hilton Garden, with many rooms and windows that was easily very occupied. Unlike most hunters who liked to live alone, in rooms they knew wouldn't be checked by many people, I liked to reside within large crowds and blend. Plus, with this weather, I would definitely appreciate a properly heated room.

Parking, I quickly jumped off and rushed into the main entrance of the establishment and paid for a room, giving a partial tip for not setting up a reservation, and received the key, quickly walking to the elevator and going to my room on the third floor. Maybe it should have bugged me that I'd just lied through my teeth without batting a lash to the ones that were gracious enough to allow me to sleep in one of their rooms, I thought. Oh well. When I entered the room, I scanned and cleared the place and then set my bag at the foot of my couch, curled up in my clothes and passed out there, having not slept in two or three days.

My sleep was unusually deep, but as fitful as usual. Everything was black, dark . There was nothing but nothing, until the ring from earlier invaded my senses, seeming to make my whole head vibrate and cause my skin to crawl uncomfortably. Louder, and louder, and louder- but then there were voices. Beautiful, high and deep simultaneously, unflawed perfection, spelling out Latin phrases I repeated blissfully, the words dancing on my tongue and then etching into my brain.

Suddenly, a harsher voice rose above the pure beauty of the others, making me jump and flinch, and when the whispers climbed in volume, a deformed face with bloody teeth flashed before me. The man's eyes scared me the most though they were amazingly, humanly normal for such a monstrosity. Behind them was cold, empty, dark and filled with an evil; One that could not be hidden- not even within measly human irises.

"Soon."

I shot upwards blindly, reaching for my knife instinctively, poised on the couch as though ready to strike at the chandelier. Gasping in fear and forced deep breaths to calm myself down, I settled back into the cushions. "Well, I need a notebook."

Leaving another healthy tip on the coffee table while I left the safety of my hotel room, I slung the backpack over one shoulder, the contents settling familiarly. The grey bag included a spare set of clothes, my Grandmother's rosary which she had blessed when she was a little girl, a typed document filled with Latin poetry and chants, intricately designed so that to the untrained eyes it seemed just a beautiful composition of writing, and a holy bible that my Father had given to my Mother before I was born. I needed nothing more, and I brought nothing less than the backpack. I kept my wallet in my jacket pocket.

On my hurry out of the hotel, I passed through the door and leaned back to look at the front desk. "Good morning- could I borrow that notepad?"

"Certainly, Miss." The woman behind the desk- A young woman of maybe twenty-five with her brown hair back in a tight bun and sharp features- tore one page out of the book and offered it to me. In return, I took the notebook and allowed her to keep the page as I walked outside.

While eating a rather fattening breakfast in a nearby dinner, I opened the book to begin writing. It was a dollar store type book, with a picture of a kitten playing on the front. I shrugged and began to write in neat handwriting the Latin phrases I had heard during my dream, silently translating in the back of my head all the while.

"Ex_cuse_ me," An almost overbearingly amplified voice, filled with its usual joking nature filled the café, stirring the attention of all the early risers who'd been happily eating their food. "I'm looking for a little blonde girl, slightly anti-social. Have you seen her?"

I smirked, still looking at the paper and scribbling down the last of the short story, leaving ellipses for emphasis of the incompleteness. "Well-"

"A hole in the ground with water in it." Rufus answered with a straight face as he sat down at the other seat at my table. "What's with all those scribbles, Sare?"

I sighed and put the notebook into my backpack, "Long story for on the ride to your friends. You gonna eat? My treat."

"Wouldn't mind if I do~" He happily called the waiter, shamelessly flirting with her. She laughed, catching my eye and I smiled for her benefit while she left to get his breakfast.

After he'd eaten, looking quite content and fulfilled for the moment, we departed from the cafe, me with an iced coffee in my hand, and drove off out of Atlanta, heading for the border. My bike was secured in the bed of the truck and I glanced at the tarp waving in the wind every so often while watching the sun rise and set in the sky, burning the skyline on fire and making the once clear trees only black etches tearing darkness into the burnt skies.

Well on our way there, I sighed, "So, Rue, who's this friend we're visiting."

"His name is Bobby."

I look at him, expecting him to continue. When there was nothing more, I shrugged, biting the inside of my cheek. "Alrighty then." I slipped in my headphones, blaring Theory Of A Deadman as we sped down the interstate on our way to South Dakota.


	2. Chapter 2: Important Work

Chapter Two

Four and a half days later, Rufus finally turned into what appeared to be a car repair shop. The grounds were covered in rust buckets, but each car outside the enormous garage I could see overlooking the area seemed to be in healthy working condition.

"He makes an honest living, unlike some men I know." I nudged Rufus' arm, grinning.

He frowned. "I don't want my forgery skills to get rusty. He's nose to the books, all the damn time. Probably 'cause that's the only thing he's ever been better than me at. If I had the patience, I could beat him at that too, though." He sniffed defiantly and I laughed.

"Competitive, are we?"

"What? No. I taught this man everything he knows."

We parked among the repaired cars and walked up the wet dirt path up to the porch of the house.

Rufus began explaining the situation as we neared the house, seeing figures moving inside. "One of these buffoons came to me for some help a few months ago, just before he went to hell. His name is Dean Winchester, and his brother Sam is there as well. Never leaves his side, it's almost scary. Bobby owes me a favour, eventually."

I would've sworn he murmured 'A big one' before he knocked, and an older man appeared. He was obviously gruff, with facial hair caught between a beard and stubble. He wore a ball cap, flannel and worn jeans. From out the door I could already smell the inside of his house, which was a strange mixture of grease, whiskey, old spice, and something else I couldn't put my finger on. He looked between Rufus and I, most likely wondering who I was. Anyone who knew one of us and not the other was fairly certain we wouldn't have enjoyed each others acquaintance, never mind being in the line of work together. I never blamed them.

"Rufus, you made it. Who's this young lady?" His voice was rough and deep. I smiled.

"Sarah Casey, it's a pleasure to meet you." I greeted politely.

"Bobby Singer." He said in return. "Now, I've got to put you through some tests but-"

"C'mon, Bobby. We're both used to it, don't trouble yourself with an explanation." Rufus rolled his eyes, pushing past his friend into the house. I smiled apologetically.

Bobby shrugged. "Alright then. Right this way."

When we walked in the house, Rufus made himself right at home. Carefree bugger was going to get himself shot sooner than later. Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well, he's him. I'm still going to check you though... Sarah, right?"

I nodded wordlessly, offering my arm. He went through what had become customary to me. Pierce me with silver, trickle holy water on me, trickle salt onto my skin. When he let me go and I turned around, two other man had joined us in the living room area, standing before a large bookcase which I realized was the other scent I had caught outside; old documents and book bindings.

One of the men was very tall, with hair to the nape of his neck and sweeping back away from his face. He had intent hazel eyes that were obviously hiding an overbearing guilt. He had a longer face than the other, and was dressed in jeans, a clean flannel shirt, and a jacket over.

The other man, considerably shorter but not by too much, wore similar clothing. His hair was cropped short, and his features were much like his brother's, although his jaw was a bit more square. He looked at me appraisingly, a well-placed half-smile on his face. He seemed to be a hits-on-anything-that-walks-and-talks-with-a-rack type. I smiled sweetly back at him, seeing right through him, although I could see in his eyes as well that he was carrying a burden as well.

"Hello, I'm Sarah." I introduced myself.

"Sam." The tall one greeted, waving offhandedly, still watching me closely.

"Dean." The other man said, his older brother. I chuckled in my head, wondering how upset he must've been when his younger brother began to tower over him. After a moment though, my amusement faded and I watched him.

"Rufus, didn't you say-"

"That he was in hell? Yes. Obviously, he got out, and that's why Bobby wanted my help. Ain't that right, Bob?"

Bobby sneered. "Shut up, ya idiot. We actually have a dilemma here, demons could be knocking on my door any moment."

"No, the nearest demon is sixty miles out." My voice trailed off quietly at the end when Bobby, Sam, and Dean looked at me curiously.

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged. Bobby didn't seem to find this very interesting. I wondered idly if he had met such people before and made a mental note to talk with him alone the first chance I got.

"Well, how the hell did he get out of the pit?" Rufus asked.

"We went by Pamela's place. Apparently its name is Castiel."

"Castiel." I repeated in surprise. Rufus looked back at me, not understanding my sudden interest. "I crossed something by the same name down in Georgia, inspecting a town that was wiped out."

Bobby scoffed. "Yeah? Well he burned out Pamela's eyes as well."

"But what do we make of this?" Sam spoke up. "What exactly is he?"

"A demon?" Dean suggested.

"That doesn't make sense, Dean." Bobby said bluntly. "There's no demon that strong. And why would a damn demon want to drag you out of hell?"

"e's right, Dean." Sam said. "But if not that, then what? Bobby, we've never encountered something like this before. Should we bother disturbing it, if it's what we think it is?"

"What do you think-" I interjected.

"Damn right we should." Dean growled, cutting me off. "We owe that to Pamela, and I want to confront this son of a bitch and demand answers. This is all a bit too shady for my liking."

"How exactly do you propose we do that?" Rufus sourly spoke up. "This thing burned out a woman's eyes. Good shot as you are, it won't matter if you're blinded or rendered useless in other extremities."

Dean was taken aback. "I don't know if that was a compliment or-"

"Well, if we really are inviting this thing in, I suggest we don't do so anywhere near this house." I offered.

Rufus nodded. "There was an empty warehouse an hour or so from here that we could prepare. What do you say, Bobby? Want me to _help_?" The cockiness in his voice made me stifle a laugh.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Just go get to work, ya idjit. I have a location set up already for circumstances such as these. Write all the symbols you know for _anything,_ and I'll research a summoning spell." Rufus was right. Bobby was a researcher at heart. But he didn't strike me as the stay at home type.

"Alright, give me an address and let's go." Rufus said, standing abruptly and after listening momentarily for the location walked out. With a smirk I followed behind him, hearing the Winchester brother's fall in line behind us.

Eventually we reached the personal garage, parallel to the old worn house behind us. I paused to inspect the machine before me, admiring its sleek curves and the way the rain slicked down its clean sides. It had an old, wise beauty, and I'd always had a soft spot for old cars. A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth but I quickly concealed it, working diligently at hauling all the supplies needed into the trunk. Once the job was done and Sam'd closed the trunk, I let my fingers graze the cool frame, feeling her importance. I strolled past and walking up to the truck that Rufus preferred. "You stay safe, okay? I'm going to stay with Bobby and research a few more procedures, just to be safe. Catch up with you later."

"Okay, Sarah. Teach him a thing or two." He winked at me and I laughed lightly using large strides to breeze past and strut back to the house happily. The sun was beating down upon the auto shop, gleaming off the windshields of every car blindingly. It was warm enough that I could take off my jacket and wear only my baggy sweater over my tank. I opened the door and stepped in, slipping it over the back of a chair. Suddenly a knife pressed to my neck, so I raised my hands in surrender, "Hi."

Bobby let me go, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. With an amused grin I continued. "I'm good with books, I kinda think that's why Rufus kept me around at first. He didn't want to admit he needed your help with it." I nudge him softly with my elbow as I walk past, towards the book shelf. If he weren't so confused, I'm sure he would have smirked like an egotistical man.

"Yeah? Well, where do you want to start?"

"You look up symbols, I'll memorize incantations? My Latin is fairly adept but getting rusty, I'd like to hone my skills. I think I'll be able to find a protective spell and a barrier spell." I offered helpfully, picking my pile of papers out of my bag and sifting through the yellow, aged pages. I looked up at the gruff man in the doorway and giggled at how taken aback he still was, but he still came in and began working silently. After a few tense moments I continued. "Robert, I'm not going to bite. Or explode. Or murder your puppy. Whatever it is you are looking so constipated over."

"Don't call me Robert." He snapped. If I hadn't known Rufus for as long as I did, I might not have realized that was his form of acceptance. I got back to reading and so did he. Occasionally we swapped notes and penned down on a proper document anything we found incredibly useful.

My phone rang, though we both checked out pockets. I could feel the buzzing against my thigh. I pulled it out and quickly answered. "Allo?"

"Get your ass over here, ya bookworms. There's a monster to confront."

"Angel, Rufus." I corrected nonchalantly, standing and packing things into my backpack. Bobby understood what I was doing and prepared himself as well, then trudged outside to start the vehicle we'd be using.

"I know I am."

"Ugh." I laughed, wrinkling my nose as I stepped outside into the grounds. A car drove in front of me and I sat in the passenger seat, glancing at Bobby. "See you in forty." Yet, in our hurry, we arrived there in just over half an hour.

"We ready?" Dean asked, scanning the room for any gaps in our defenses. Bobby had drawn symbols and runes and readied a great deal of different weapons on a table not to far from our reach. He was satisfied and as usual Rufus was happily indifferent. I was confident, my hand appearing to just be resting on my hip to those who didn't know that was where I kept my knife concealed in its sheath.

"Where's Sam?" I asked quietly.

Bobby sighed and looked at Dean. "We had no choice but to lie to him. We didn't tell him we intended on summoning the thing tonight, so he drove himself to some burger joint."

I nodded absently.

Rufus huffed in satisfaction. "Sorry to cut short, but I'm outta here. Don't want any feathery bitches of God on my ass." And he left without another word. I was used to it, and by the way the Dean looked at Bobby in confusion as he merely pressed them into getting the damn ritual done already, the idiots, I suspected he was as well.

"I think I'll be safest in here." I utter as both men look at me. I blushed slightly but turned forward so they wouldn't see.

"I'm staying." Bobby stated. There was no contradicting him.

Silently, Bobby and Dean exchanged a glance, then Bobby looked down at me and uttered gruffly, "Don't you want to be armed?"

"I am." Was my response, sliding my dagger so that they heard the soft, beautiful shimmer of the blade retracting from its resting place. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Bobby kept a surprised look from crossing his face. I was tempted to say 'Yeah, that's right. Not just a girl.'

"Alright, let's do this."

The spell was fairly simple, but the tension in the room gave very little room for error. When a small glimmer of fire rose from the ingredients, a large gust swept through the room and the hair framing my face wiped back.

Silence consumed the room for an immeasurable amount of time. We all stayed taut like the string of a bow, waiting without breaking the quiet.

"Are you sure you did the summoning correctly?"

Suddenly the tiles covering the roof of the barn rose and fell in a sudden non existent gust of wind.

Dean spoke up again, trying to ease the situation slightly. "Wishful thinking but maybe it's just the wind?"

Immediately after his words they were proven wrong as lights shattered, and the same ear-splitting piercing siren of sound broke through the silence but faded soon after. Bobby was the first to see the man stepping forward through the shards of glass, his eyes intent and his walk that dedicated to hunt, or to perform an important duty. Unsure of either, both men opened fire before they quickly realized the bullets did not affect the creature stalking towards us. Dean's instincts had him reaching back for a blade with familiar runes and a spiked edge that I recognized to be a demonic injury curse.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded with clenched teeth, nervous from the man's lack of injury.

The man who had appeared before us was a few inches shorter than Dean and one of so taller than Bobby, but I couldn't specify his heights as his aura far outstretched his humanly born body. He was overwhelming huge, and I wondered how the other men could even look at him so defiantly. He had cerulean blue eyes, appearing almost dark gray in the unlit barn, and had short messy hair of an impressive black shade. Perhaps the most interesting sight upon his appearance, however, was the tan trench coat he chose to wear above a simple business outfit, with the tie done up all wrong. When he spoke his tone was surprisingly gruff given the appearance of his form, yet incredibly monotone. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Dean shrugged as though he expected as much and was exasperated from such a simplistic form of an answer. "Yeah, thanks for that." The man was midway between a courteous nod when Dean chose to sink the demon blade into the being's shoulder, who looked down at it dismissively then pulled it out without delay and distress. The metallic vibrating ring of the blade bouncing off the ground broke another long silence. I didn't bother taking my dagger out anymore, knowing it would be useless, but Bobby tried to strike the man with the blunt end of his shotgun when he had his back turned. With ease, the offender grabbed the metal hurling towards him and placed two fingers against his forehead, lying the man on the ground. Panic and anger filled Dean's eyes.

"He's only sleeping." The man insisted, "I need to talk to you two. Alone."

The older Winchester kneeled in front of his comrade, checking for a pulse and noticing his soft, deep breathing. "He is not harmed." The man insisted again, though his tone showed no care for Dean's dismay. I sat silently, fingers twitching to the hilt of my blade as a sense of comfort.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Castiel." He answered simply. Surprise invaded my mind, but I kept it carefully hidden.

"Yeah, I figured that much." Dean deadpanned sarcastically, glaring the intruder down. "_What_ are you?"

"I am an angel of the Lord." Castiel stated simply, without blinking. As if it was the most simple matter in the world to understand and accept. I scoffed slightly, as did Dean.

"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"That is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." A moment of silence followed, as we waited for clarification, and sudden lightning bolts lit up the room, making the both of us jump and tense. Behind the angel man before us, shown through the light as a shadow, two wide long wings stretched and curled up majestically, flaunting their elegance and existence.

"There's your proof." I muttered, and Dean's eyes flickered towards me as he threw me another exasperated glare.

"Well, some angel you are. You burned out that woman's eyes."

"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be...overwhelming, to humans. As can my true voice."

I nodded in exaggeration, finding it in me to laugh a bit, though weakly.

"Wait. The gas station, that was you _talking_?" His question was answered with a subtle nod. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you'd be one of them. From out previous encounter I know that young woman is one of those people."

Dean looked at me curiously, as though looking at me to see how I was so different from other people, and I crossed my arms defensively.

"What 'visage' are you in now? Holy Tax Accountant?" Even in this sort of situation, the man had the nerve to crack jokes? Points to him.

"This? This is a vessel." Castiel said simply.

"You're _possessing_ some poor bastard?!"

Castiel looked like he had the urge to roll his eyes. "He was a devout man. He actually prayed for this."

Dean ran a hand over his face, grumbling to himself for a moment before asking audibly. "This is crazy. Why would an angel rescue me from hell?!"

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel reassured, looking distraught at Dean's disbelief.

Dean turned on those words, face set in anger and his movements jerky with frustration. "Not in my experience."

Castiel's voice almost seemed to soften as he spoke again, and I looked at Dean with curiosity as well, mine and the angel's thoughts seeming to be aligned for a moment. "What's the matter? You don't think you deserved to be saved." The way the angel said it made it more of a statement than a wonder, accompanied by a slight narrowing of his impressive heavenly blue eyes and an equally as subtle tilt of the head.

Dean Winchester avoided confirming the angel's suspicion altogether and instead asked in a stone cold and hardened voice again, "Why'd you do it?"

Castiel moved uncomfortably closer to the man, certainly lacking the respect of human traditions and avoiding Dean's breathing space and muttered, "Because God commanded it." Suddenly his eyes met mine again, and I looked back at him evenly, "Because we have work for you."

Without another word, the angel had disappeared from before us. I assumed he must have flown, but I wasn't sure. Bobby's awareness returned and he stirred on the ground, giving a faint snort, breaking off his loud snoring. Dean grinned down at him, offering his hand to help the old man off the floor. While Dean relayed everything that happened I figured myself forgotten and left the barn to go see Rufus outside.

I found him sitting securely in his rusty pick up, gripping the steering wheel and looking out over the grounds seriously, inspecting for any suspicious activity outside the building. When his eyes lifted from their scrutinizing glare into the tall gold grass, he rolled down his window and I stood on my tiptoes to rest my forearms on the frame.

"Anything?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well I didn't need proof angels existed- I already knew I was one." I winked. "But yes. We just met Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, who claims God has important work for us all."

"Did he say what?" Rufus asked, intrigued enough to let my comment slip by.

I shook my head. "He said he would keep us informed. Where are we going to go now? Are we staying for a while?"

"Well, I've got a case I was raced up here in the middle of. What about you? You coming?"

I chewed at my lower lip. "...Naw. I'll keep an eye out around here. I'll follow some demons tracks, keep you updated. If you could do me a huge favor?"

My mentor and father figure rolled his eyes, though I could detect the playfulness. "What is it now?"

"Can you pretty please pick up my bike from the parking lot at the hotel?"

"Sarah!" He cried in exasperation. I giggled slightly.

"It would mean the world~"

Shaking his head and looking away, Rue sighed. "Fine. There and back, I'll be here tomorrow with it."

"Thank you!" I cried and reached up to throw my arms around him. He laughed and patted my back from his awkward position higher than me in the cab of the truck. I pulled back. "Keep in touch, okay? And don't die."

"It ain't my time, princess." He assured me, starting up the truck. Footsteps started up behind me, crunching against the concrete.

"I take it you're headed out now." Bobby said gruffly, looking between Rufus and I.

Rufus scoffed."Well of course I am, ya idiot. When have I ever stayed away from home for long?" I smiled fondly as he spoke of the broken down house we called home, thinking of my cot in the basement and the safety of all of my few possessions surrounding me. The smile began to slip into the beginning tugs of a frown, and I looked down and away. "But she's staying."

"Is she now?" Bobby said curiously.

I looked up quickly. "Not at your place, I was just going to get a hotel room, and then I'll be out of town tomorrow."

Bobby glared at me, and I was slightly taken aback. "Don't be an idjit, I've got plenty of rooms. I think we can make room for a night."

My lips parted to object, while in my mind I was already thinking of a way I could make it up to them. "...Okay. Thank you, very much."My mind flashed to the Winchester brothers as I thought about what they might think, but when I looked over Dean was only staring down Rufus. I took that as acceptance, but felt uncomfortable about the uneasiness between them.

"Dean? You're driving the girl."

"What?" Dean asked, startled.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it!" I interrupted quickly, smiling widely to mask my panic. "I don't want to bother him-"

Bobby smirked. "Oh, it's no bother. Right, boy?" He patted Dean's arm as he walked back to his truck, and I stayed there in confusion.

"Um, seriously, I really don't want to be any trouble. I can always just go with Rufus." I explained, fiddling with the charms of my necklace.

Dean smiled charmingly at me. "Seriously," He teased me, copying my words, "It was just unexpected. Let's go."

"Alright." I amended. "Bye, Rufus."

"See ya 'round, Sare." Without another word, he pulled out of the lot and sped off into the night. I watched the tail lights disappear with a sinking sense of loneliness, but sighed it off and treaded off towards the Impala.

I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, Dean following closely. I sat properly, my hands clasped together on my legs, and I looked around the inside of the car in wonder. It smelled different, but basically stated it just smelled like soldiers in this war we lived in. There was a faint salty scent of blood beneath the more overwhelming smell of gunpowder and leather, but it was nice. The rest of the interior was clean and well taken care of, and the engine purring to life made me smile to myself. I didn't recognize the end of the song that had been playing.

"Your car is beautiful." I commented, reaching into my bag and taking out my coat, shrugging it on.

"Isn't she?"

I shook my head, chuckling, and pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, the cuff of my fitted jacket still sitting against my wrist.

I always loved driving in the night. Hearing the breeze whip passed the car blindingly, the trees reaching skyward with their long bony fingers, barely grazing the edge of the stars piercing the navy night sky. Ahead of the moon, you could see the dark gray clouds float past in their dream like trance, undisturbed for a few hours without being pierced through by the golden rays of dawn. Instead, you could just let your mind wander while gazing forward into what little you could see in the dull glow of your headlights. In my experience, it's one of the most comforting feelings in the world, but perhaps that was opinion formed by my always being moved around. Normal people might feel uneasy being swallowed by the safety of the night's shadows.

I relaxed as I thought about this all, leaning against my window. Faintly I regarded the change of the song on the radio, and realized I knew the song. "Hey..." I commented, listening to the beginning of the song.

The older Winchester brother looked over at me in question, but I just kept looking forward and softly murmured along to the song,

"On a long and lonesome highway,

East of Omaha,

You can hear the engine moaning out

it's one note song.

You can think about the woman,

or the girl you knew the night before.

But your thoughts will soon be wander,

The way they always do,

When you're driving sixteen hours,

and there's nothing much to do.

And you don't feel much like riding,

you just wish the trip was through.

Here I am,

On the road again.

There I am,

Up on the stage.

There I go,

Playing the star again.

There I go,

Turn the page."

"You know Metallica?" Dean said in disbelief. I shot him a look, then winked subtly.

"So you walk into this restaurant,

All strung out from the road

And you feel the eyes upon you,

As you're shaking off the cold.

You pretend it doesn't bother you,

But you just want to explode.

Yeah, most times you can't hear them talk,

But other times you can.

The same old damn cliché's,

'Is it woman, is it man?'

And you always seem outnumbered,

You don't dare make a stand.

Make your stand!

Here I am,

On the road again.

Here I am,

On the stage.

There I go,

Playing the star again.

There I go,

Turn the page."

"My Dad used to listen to Metallica a lot when I was a kid, my lullaby to go to sleep was basically Enter Sandman."

Dean scoffs. "Enter Sandman? Wouldn't that have scared the crap out of a kid?"

"Maybe." I agreed. "But not with how I was raised."

"Were you raised in the life?"

I nodded. "Unintentionally. I can see spirits, even when they are hiding themselves. And you know, when you're casually staring at someone who thinks they aren't there they tend to stick by you. I've been haunted since the first day of my life and probably will be haunted until my last."

With a nod and a pursing of his lips he showed his understanding. I nodded, "As I got older, the talent got stronger. I started to see people possessed by demons, seeing them for what they really were."

"So that's what you meant earlier, when you could tell how close or far the nearest demons were." He realized.

"Yes." I answered.

"And what about your parents? How old are you, anyways?"

I sighed and looked out the window again. "I'm twenty-five. My parents aren't around anymore." My voice rang with finality, effectively ending the conversation as we pulled into Singer's Salvage Yard. Bobby waited for us outside, leaning against his truck, and I smiled and nodded politely at him.

"We're here." Dean stated simply, throwing me a grin as he got out of the car. I followed suit.

"Yes, it would seem so."

"Alright then, let's get you set up." Bobby said as we approached, turning immediately for me to follow. He gave me a room upstairs with a small bed against the farthest wall, underneath a window. There was a small table next to the bed, with lamp on top and room under the drawer for my backpack to rest. It was small but comfy, and far better than the motels I was used to. I thanked him fervently, and he left me alone for a while to set myself up. I set my backpack down, put my coat and sweater on the dresser top, and placed my Ipod on top of the dresser, plugging it into the same socket that powered the lamp. It blinked to life, and I scrolled through to my favorite play list, playing it without volume to prepare myself for later. I plugged my phone into a socket hidden next to the bed, placing it on the window sill to rest for the night. As well, I took my notepad out with a pen atop it, ready to write as soon as I awoke from my troubling dreams.

Finally, I unattached my dagger from its resting spot on my hip, always hidden beneath my jacket. I placed it underneath my pillow in case of emergency.

Without another word I closed the door to my room, turned off the lamp and laid down under the blankets, reaching out to turn the volume of my music to a quiet hum in the background to tune out the ever-present knowledge of the demons not nearly close, but nearby enough to cause me distress and fear. I drifted into a deep slumber listening to L490 by 30 seconds to mars.

AN: *All songs belong to their respective owners*


	3. Chapter 3: Room for Panic

Chapter Three

This time, the darkness came with soundless waves of energy, thudding like a heartbeat. The chant that echoed through the darkness was timeless, in a language that I couldn't interpret but somehow understood. Like the time before I sat motionless and obediently listened, only shaken by a quick thought of mine; Why not ask what the purpose of this was?

The face came to me again, still as broken and disgusting as before, but twisted in rage, bellowing, "NO."

I sat up with a gasp, quickly catching my breath and grabbing the prepared notebook from before. I scribbled down the small bits and pieces I could connect, and quietly set it down and put it away without another word, pressing my fingers into my temple and massaging gently. I'd try to find a meaning to it later.

Wordlessly, I got up and decided to get dressed in the few spare clothes I had and to wash the rest of them later in the morning. Ruffling through the contents of my backpack, I pulled out and slipped on a pair of dark gray jeans, tucking them into my combat boots as I slipped them on with a simple pair of clean white socks. Then I tugged a white tank over my chest and spaced a soft beige cardigan over my shoulders to shield the cool autumn winds from my olive toned skin. It was with a great sense of accomplishment that I discovered a hand mirror on the top shelf of the closet, and propped it up against the window sill to brush my collar-bone length gold tresses back in a short pony tail. I didn't bother with makeup, as I wasn't going to be undercover and it would only get smudged by sweat, or blood, or tears. Maybe a combination of all three, but makeup and my lifestyle didn't seem to mix. For a small fraction of a moment, I looked down at my worn hands and short fingernails, wishing I could have a pretty manicure with long healthy nails and soft pale skin that would look good in the hands of my prince charming once I stumbled across him. But somehow that seemed very, very far away at the least, and impossible at the most. Nobody was safe around me, and it was selfish of me to stay near people I cared about for too long.

With a deep sigh I wrenched myself out of my thoughts and silently moved through the room, opening the door and ghosting through the hallway to rediscover the kitchen/Dining Room/Library ensemble that belonged to Bobby Singer. I filtered through his cabinets and fridge to see what possible meals I could make for a good morning thank you, and was pleasantly surprised by the variety that was truly there. Once I'd discovered honey, a small assortment of berries, and pancake mix I decided to make them a pancake breakfast that they could decorate as they desired with a side of bacon.

While I started frying up the bacon and mixing the cake mix up, pouring it into a separate pan, I hummed softly to myself, working my way through the kitchen gracefully. Within fifteen minutes I was pulling off the first batch of pancakes and sliding them onto a plate, setting them on the counter. I arranged the berries in a circular formation around them, began preparing more, and flipped the bacon when I heard a pair of socked feet hit the bottom of the stairs. Sam appeared in the room, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his sleep induced bed head.

"What's all this?" Sam inquired, walking up next to me as his eyes roamed hungrily over the food. I smiled.

"This is breakfast." I said happily.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble." He said nonetheless, while grabbing a spare plate and fork and serving breakfast for himself.

I hummed, "Well I did anyways, to thank you all for letting me stay."

"If you're going to make breakfast for us every morning, trust me, you'll be free to stay." He joked, sitting down at the small table in the kitchen while I served the bacon. The rest of the pancakes were almost done, so I decided a bit of small talk wouldn't be too distracting.

I turned slightly, chewing on a piece of bacon as I leaned against the counter. "What has you up so early anyways?" I wondered.

"I run." Sam said, seeming proud of himself. "It helps me clear my head."

I scoffed. "I wish I had a means of clearing my head."

"Well, then, maybe you should try it too sometime. If you're staying with us any longer, maybe tomorrow morning you can join me or something."

"You just want a chance to be right." I called him out, glaring at him accusingly with a small smile on my face.

He raised his hands in the air in surrender, "Alright, you got me. But cmon, I live with an older brother and a man I've grown to known is a research genius, it's not everyday I get to be right."

I laughed softly, turning and taking off the rest of the pancakes as I heard a pair of heavier footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs. Bobby walked in. "What's all the ruckus?" He asked irritably. "I damn well need my beauty-is that pancakes?"

"Yes, it's a thank you gesture. And I suppose an apology for waking you up."

"It's all her fault, Bobby." Sam insisted, waving his hand in my direction. I stuck my tongue out and he laughed at me, composing himself when Bobby turned around and cuffed him upside the back of the head. I snickered.

"Apology accepted, but you didn't have to thank me. I invited you in."

"Nevertheless." I sang with a shrug. "I'll get out of your hair as soon as possible."

Sam gave a futile attempt to cover his mouth and mask his comment as he muttered, "What little hair he has left.", and Bobby smacked him again, making him laugh even more.

I jumped at the sight of a form suddenly moving into the kitchen, not having heard any footsteps indicating any living presence, until I noticed it was Dean and restrained myself from letting my hand flutter over my heart as though it could help slow it down. Sam looked back casually. "Morning."

"Morning." Dean answered, his voice rough with sleep and sounding surprisingly like Sam's had only a moment ago. "Stop messing with the old man. That's my job."

I snickered and looked away when Bobby threw me a disapproving glance. I turned to Dean to avoid the look. "I made breakfast."

Immediately Dean lit up. "Dude, you can stay." Sam and Bobby nodded in agreement and I shrugged nonchalantly, but smiled brightly as I bite into another piece of bacon.

Later that day, I was outside waiting for Rufus to arrive with my bike, warming up in the sun that was beating down upon the Auto Shop. My head was tilting back, letting the warmth spread along my neck and down my chest, the wind ruffled my pony tail and caused the stray strands around my face to brush my face like a light caress. It was a bit before noon. My phone vibrated against my thigh in my pocket, and I quickly took it out and picked it up.

"Allo?"

"Hey lazy, I dropped off your bike in a coffee shop about twenty minutes from where ya are. What're your plans?" Rufus asked me, seeming a lot more comfortable now that he was away from company again.

I smiled. "Thanks a lot, Ru. I guess I'll use what I can here to repair the bike, then I'll get out of their hair."

"Good plan. You do not want to be sticking 'round them too much."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, and sticking around me is so much better."

"I've told you about this before, Sarah-" Rufus started, but I cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I understand. I'm just making a point."

"Alright." He amended. "Anyways, good luck. Stay in contact, you know where to get to me."

I nodded, knowing he couldn't see. "Okay. Be safe, Ru."

"You too." The phone disconnected. I felt a vague sense of loneliness before I decided to go tell everyone inside where I was headed. On my way inside, however, my thoughts were interrupted.

"It's not like her to not answer. We should check it out."

I walked in, not wanting to eavesdrop, and looked between the three men. "What's going on?"

Bobby looked at me seriously. "I don't think you'd understand, Sarah, I'm sorry-"

"Try me." I said persuasively. "At least tell me. If its something I can't handle, I'll back right off."

Sam sighed and looked over at me, while Dean looked at me defensively. "Well-"

"We aren't _actually _going to tell her, are we?" Dean interrupted. I raised a slender brow at him.

Sam gave him a warning look, and it was Bobby who continued on to tell me what was happening. "Some hunters around the area, including my friend Olivia a few state over, haven't answered their phone or contacted me about this angel thing for three days. It's not like them to ignore this many calls."

I nodded. "Well, it doesn't seem that hard. Just an investigation, I perform those all the time."

"Are you a hunter?" Sam asked curiously. I laughed softly.

"No, not a hunter, more of an exorcist-slash-medium." I corrected. The questioning looks of them made me continue on, "I'm experienced with spirits and demons. Not with your traditional monsters, like werewolves or vampires or skin walkers. I have encountered them, but I don't hunt them."

Sam's lower lip jutted out in thought, a habit I found relatively endearing, and Dean shrugged. Bobby laughed, "So that's why you and Rufus teamed up."

"Mhm. I'm the expert in my field, he works in his own, when we get word of a job for the other we tell them. Simple as that."

"And how long have you been doing this?" Dean asked.

"Uh, depends..." I trailed off. "On the job, or random encounter."

"Your first time in general." Sam inquired. I looked at him and a smirk slipped onto my lips. He blushed, and I smiled more.

"In general, I exorcised a spirit that haunted my family when I was twelve."

Everyone seemed stunned, "Twelve?!"

"Long story for another time." I said finally, "Now, who am I riding with?"

Bobby waved me to follow him as he headed for the door and walked outside. I followed obediently and left the boys in confusion.

Bobby and I managed to keep up a nice light chatter on the way there about the times we'd met before. He'd asked me if I'd made any progress with Rufus, and I told him that he always had a soft spot for me, to which he agreed completely. I mentioned offhandedly that my ride was in the back lot of the coffee shop in town and Bobby promised we could pick it up on the way back to the shop. I smiled, relieved, and thanked him as we approached his friend's house, when just as quickly as the atmosphere had lightened it became heavy again in anticipation. Bobby and I slid out of the car, closing the doors behind us, and the Winchesters did the same.

Bobby knocked. "Hello? It's Bobby Singer, is everything alright?"

We waited for a moment in silence, and there was no answer. Bobby lead us in, and we all looked around quickly. I noticed the salt line in the bedroom area of the small flat, and smelled the distinct scent of-

"Oh...I think I might've found her." I groaned, covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve.

"Or what・s left of her." Dean agreed. "But there's no sign of forced entry, how could this have happened?"

"The salt line hasn't been broken." Sam announced. "Maybe the spirit came in from the side she stayed on."

Bobby nodded, looking distantly upset. "It would seem so."

It was Dean who noticed, not too long after I shot the older man a look of sympathy. "What's wrong, Bobby?"

"She was my friend, ya idjit. I have a good reason to be a bit _upset_, don't I?" He snapped.

Sam jumped into Dean's defense. "Yes, of course."

Bobby sniffed, and everyone let go of the topic. "I tried calling the other hunters in the area, no one is answering. We should head back to the house, and try to contact them again."

"Okay, Bobby." Sam agreed, obviously trying to stay on his good side.

Bobby headed out of the house, searching for a bit of air. I walked forward after he'd left, looking through Olivia's weaponry.

"Olivia was rockin' the EMF meter." Dean commented, picking it up. Sam nodded in agreement.

"Spirit activity."

I nodded. "Looks like this is right up my alley after all."

"Yeah, a ghost on _steroids_. I've never seen a spirit do anything like that to a person before."

Bobby appeared again, setting something on the counter that clattered on contact. "I, uh... called some hunters nearby."

Dean nodded, "That's great. We could use all the help we can get."

"...'Cept they ain・t answering their phones either."

Sam's face fell, a sympathetic tone shadowing his features. When he spoke his voice was soft. "Something's up, huh?"

Bobby looked up. "Ya think?" He looked back at the bloody remains again, pouring out onto the floor and stabbing the air with a gut wrenching stench. He started to head out, and I tagged along, unused to the putrid smell and aware of the swimming in my head.

Bobby and I, and Dean and Sam split up into two different groups to check up on nearby hunters. After a full day of bloody murder and the rotting scent of flesh, I was ready to go home, and stared out the window while Bobby and Dean spoke on the phone about what we'd seen.

When we got close to home, Bobby surprised me with remembering what I obviously hadn't, fulfilling my desire to just get back to the house and stopped at the gas station along the way. I hopped out happily and scurried around the building to see my precious bike leaning against the wall, scratched up but repairable, and I slid my leg over and straddled the seat, sending the engine to life quickly and easing up on the clutch to make my way out into the parking lot. Bobby sat in his car in silence and waved when he saw me approach again. Sam and Dean stopped for gas, and Bobby took off towards home, knowing the boys would follow him shortly.

I was about to pull out of the lot when I saw a familiar face in the window of the shop, staring at me. I blinked and shook my head, looking back and feeling a strike of fear when the frame of the man flickered out of existence and appeared closer to me, but still didn't disappear.

"No・No!" I said in a hard tone, driving my foot down on the gas and leaving quickly, feeling panic slipping over my disgust from the day earlier.

It felt good to soar over the concrete again, the wind making my shirt whip back where it was loose around my form. I almost regretted not bringing my jacket as the air became cool fairly quickly at my speed, but my fear overruled my enjoyment and I skidded to a halt in the auto shop as quickly as possible and ran inside to Bobby.

"Sarah..." A deep voice cooed from the shadows and I winced as I ran in.

'Bobby, I need to tell you-" The lights were flickering inside. My gaze shot to Bobby's as we each took a breath and it clouded in front of us. "...They're here."

The giggling of children filled the air. I・d glanced at Bobby in confusion when another voice startled me more than the girls' laughter ever could. I pulled out my dagger and frustration filled my features.

"Sarah. Come say hi.'

Bobby left the room, with an iron poker in his hand, towards the sounds of the children giggling. A few minutes later, among the soft unfamiliar thump of something tiny falling down the stairs, I looked out the window into the yard and saw grey eyes look back at me, slowly light up with a smile, then his hand raised just as slowly and waved. I backed away, "No. You're gone. You're dead. Why now?"

"Yes, Sarah, honey. I am dead." Keith Casey agreed, now in the living room with his daughter. "You saw what that demon did to me. You saw him before I did. Why didn't you warn me, Sare Bear? Why・d you let me die?"

"No!" I screamed, stabbing forward and watching his form curl into a mist and evaporate backwards. I skidded out of the room and into the hallway I'd last seen Bobby in. "Bobby?! Bobby!"

He was gone, and there was no answer. I panicked, turning around and seeing my Father reappear and come closer to me. "Why're you scared? Be brave, honey. Then you can die, just as I did, and no one will ever hear your screams." I lunged forward again, narrowly avoiding the icy hand headed for my chest. I sat with my back against the wall in the living room, breathing hard, and expelled a shield of pure spiritual energy around me, focusing on it as I checked around the house for Bobby, until day broke finally. My arm was aching in its socket, my fingers shaking with effort, and exhaustion was winning out over my stubbornness when I finally heard Dean and Sam outside the house, the car stopped, and a whisper yell pierced the anxious silence. "Bobby?"

"Sarah?" Sam called for good measure.

"I'm over here." I called, and they walked into the room. Dean dropped down next to me, examining the arm I was holding, and I thanked him but brushed him off nonetheless.

Sam searched the first floor. "Where's Bobby?"

"We were separated. He was at the bottom of the stairs looking for something when I was attacked from a different spirit."

"Who?" Dean asked. I hadn't been aware that they knew it was people we knew, so it caught me by surprise but I steeled myself.

"Someone I couldn't save." I said vaguely, standing up. "Now what are we going to do?"

"You and I will check the house." Dean said, "Sam will check outside."

I nodded, nursing my arm and rolling it for good measure before getting back into my battle stance. It didn't seem like long before Dean went upstairs and I heard the sound of a girls yelling, but when I went to help, I was confronted again by my Father.

"Daddy, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. "I can't help you anymore."

"You never could!" He yelled. I knew I only had so many more slices to exterminate the ghost, so instead I turned and made sure he followed. Sam ran in suddenly with Bobby, and Bobby grabbed my wrist.

"We gotta go! Follow me!"

"Wha- where are we gonna go?"

"Somewhere safe, ya idjit." Bobby said, grabbing a few books, and quickly leading us down to the basement. There was an iron wrought door, looking something like the door to a submarine with the turning handle and everything, and he opened it with a high-pitched scratch and urged us inside. We all walked in, and he closed the door securely behind us. What surprised me the most was the air that hit my face when we walked in. I'd expected it to be damp, unvented and uncomfortable. But there were benches, books, a bed, and even a skylight with a fan in the middle, which also served as a devil's trap. The whole floor was covered in a devils trap as well. A safe room, and I didn't believe a square inch of it wasn't safe from any of the creatures outside.

"Is this-?"

"Iron, completely covered in salt, one hundred percent ghost proof."

Sam looked delightfully surprised. "You built a panic room?"

"I had a free weekend." Bobby claimed with a shrug, and I laughed a bit, finally feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Regardless, I slipped down against one of the walls and rubbed my temples, dealing with a lot of emotional and physical exhaustion. My dagger clattered to the floor.

"Bobby? You're awesome." Dean said, looking around everything in admiration.

"You okay, Sarah?" Bobby asked, looking down at me.

I took a deep breath. "I've fought all night."

"Which raises another question: What the hell is that knife made of?" Sam inquired.

"First off, it's a dagger. A powerful one at that." I grumbled, running my finger over the glowing silver blunt side of my beloved weapon. " She's inscribed with a bunch of runes that I know work. Anti-possession, demonic pain, some old Enochian symbols for different elements as well. It was an ongoing project of Rufus and I's, once I heard of all the other creatures I might encounter I made sure my weapon would be sufficient enough." I paused a moment and picked her up, twirling her in my palms until she caught the right light. "There's a devil's trap in the center of the blade, if I stab a demon, it makes them human and then harms them just as well. I've had her blessed by monks, priests, whoever and whatever religion I've crossed. And then, finally, her innermost substance is iron, then surrounded by copper, then plain metal the rest of the way and I sharpened it down. All of the runes, after I etched them, I filled with silver. And when I need to, like now and like I did earlier, I soak it with salt water."

"That's brilliant." Sam said in awe. "Can I see?"

"Sure." I said, lifting the blade off the ground and handing it to him by the bladed side. Dean inspected it as well.

"You...are also awesome."

"Well, we better get to work. Start packing salt rounds, I'll see if I can figure out what the hell is going on."

There was a period of silent work time, all of us doing our part, when suddenly Dean spoke up, "See, this is why I can't get behind God. If he's doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. No rhyme or reason, just random horrible evil- I get it. I can roll with it. But if he's out there, what・s wrong with him? Where the hell is he when all these good decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself, yknow? Why doesn't he help?"

He looked around.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I aint touching this one with a ten foot pole. I found the symbol you were talking about. The brand on the ghosts. Mark of the witness. None of them died what you'd call a normal death. These ghosts are in agony, they're like rabid dogs, it ain・t there fault. Whoever did this, had big plans. It figures into an ancient prophecy. From revelations. This is a sign."

"A sign of what?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously.

My jaw had gone slightly ajar with surprise. "The apocalypse." I answered. "A sign of the apocalypse."


	4. Chapter 4: Parting Ways

Chapter Four: Sarah

"Luckily, I know a spell that can reverse it. Unluckily, everything I need for it is out there." Bobby shut the book with a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair. "With four of us now, maybe this will be easier than I'm thinking. Y'all ready to go?"

I nodded, lifting myself up off the ground and holding my hand out for my blade back. Dean passed it to me, and I sheathed it for the moment. Sam and Dean began to prepare, silently giving their consent, and once we all had our weapons and our wits about us Bobby unhinged the door and we fanned out into the basement. At the top of the stairs was a heavy-set man, looking down at us without expression. When he saw Dean, his face lifted into the most lifeless of small smiles. Dean must have recognized him, because he laughed and shook his head, muttering a curse. Before the spirit could to respond and dart down the stairs towards us, Bobby had fired a salt round into the man's gut, who disappeared back into nonexistence for the moment.

"If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk." Bobby instructed, rolling his eyes at the older Winchester brother and stalking up the stairs, his gun following his line of sight across the span of the living room. I followed soon after, hand hovering over my dagger securely. Sam followed, and finally Dean. We'd managed to make it to the living room with little difficulty, but I didn't figure our luck would hold once we ran individually for the supplies required.

"Sam, red hex box upstairs, it'll be heavy, its in the linen closet."

"Got it." Sam replied, headed upstairs immediately.

Bobby turned to Dean. "Dean, cutlery drawer. It has a fake bottom. Wormwood, Opium, and-" Dean looked at him at the mention of the second ingredient, his expression making me miss the last item on the list.

"Got it...Opium?"

"Yes! Go!" Bobby ushered him, and Dean disappeared into the kitchen.

"Sarah, get me the wooden bowl from downstairs, then coax the flames higher."

"Got it." I replied, rushing back down the staircase into the cold atmosphere of the basement. It smelled strongly of gasoline, laundry detergent, and spices. As I turned and scanned the room for the bowl which Bobby had spoken of, I ran into another problem.

"Sarah, stop running and sit down! You know you deserve punishment for what you did, don't pretend you don't believe me. You know how much I hate liars."

"I may deserve a lot of things, Father, but this? This isn't one of them." I heeded Bobby's advice and lunched towards him, forcing my blade into his neck and watching him disappear. Quickly, I snatched the bowl from its place on top of a wooden shelf and started to run up the stairs again, but my footing faltered when a hand captured my ankle and I slammed down hard into the wood, smashing my head against the wall, my kneecaps hitting a step, hard. I groaned and turned around, knife at the ready as my Father clambered over my form and his fist flew forward to dive into my chest.

There was a loud bang and my Father disappeared. I looked up backwards, stumbling to my feet and walking up the rest of the stairs, leaning against the frame and touching my throbbing head.

"Thanks." I whispered, looking down either side of the hallway. Dean looked very concerned all of a sudden.

"You're bleeding." He informed me, reaching out and touching a tender area on my hairline. I winced.

"We can deal with that later. For now, come on." I grabbed his wrist, pulling him along with me to the living room. Sam had already arrived, and when I dropped the bowl in front of Bobby he quickly readied the spell while Sam tended to the fire.

Spirits enclosed around us, Meg Masters, Victor Henrikson, two young girls I hadn't heard being addressed with a name, and Keith Casey. Even with my head spinning, I managed to attack them and succeed with hitting dead on, even if my movements weren't as graceful as before. In the background, through ringing in my ears, I could hear Bobby start to repeat the incantations. Keith appeared before me as I heard the last phrase forcibly halt in Bobby's throat, and his hold on the bowl loosened as I turned around.

"Dean!" He cried with the last bit of breath he had. The mentioned man soared forward and caught the bowl before its contents could be wrecked and stood, heading for the fire.

Finally, I managed to look into the eyes of my worst nightmare, standing right in front of me, and called to him before the room was bathed in a bright blue light, "It wasn't my fault, Dad."

When the light finally filtered and washed out of the room, imploding back into the fire, I took a deep breath and looked up at the other men in the room, all panting with exertion. Sam's head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Obviously, he had heard my words from his proximity to me, closer than the other two boys were. I shot him a warning look, my head aching harshly. He walked towards me, picking up a towel strewn across the table in the process, and I looked up into his hazel eyes as he pressed the cloth to my head, forcing pressure on the wound with his hand on the back of my skull. I swallowed and smiled appreciatively. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nodded slightly and groaned when the movement jostled the stinging pain in my head. Sam smiled sadly, leading me towards the couch and making me sit down. Bobby walked back into the room, apparently having left, and handed me some aspirin and a glass of water. I chugged down both, then held the towel to my head by myself and let the boys get back to business. It wasn't too long after I closed my eyes that, despite knowing it was dangerous, I lost consciousness and fell into a deep slumber, cradling the cool cloth to my bloody forehead.

The normal nightmares plagued me, even more vivid and detailed now that my mind was focused on repairing itself and dead to the world outside. I remembered every word spoken, and knew once I woke up I wouldn't have to bother grabbing my notebook quickly to not miss a single phrase.

Once the nightmares were over, however, I still slept. I knew I was sleeping, despite standing up in Bobby's house and walking downstairs where I presumed I must have been sleeping by now, because the towel was nowhere in sights, and I could feel a coldness in the palm of my hand that I knew was in my waking self's hand. I walked downstairs, tenderly examining the area of my injury, and walked outside for some air. As I sat on the step, a shape moved behind me, undeniable with the tan trench coat I saw float elegantly in the morning breeze. The sky was orange and pink, sunlight just creeping over the house.

"Cas. I'm dreaming, right?"

"Yes." Cas confirmed, leaning against the post of the porch, a few feet away from where I was leaning on the railing, sitting on the stairs. He spotted my wound. "You are harmed."

"I'll be fine." I brushed off, jumping slightly as a touch pressed right into the centre of the gash. There was the strangest itching sensation, and then the dull ache in my head went away. It was with a start I realized I had grasped the angel's wrist in indecision when he'd healed me, and he raised a dark eyebrow. I let go, smiling sheepishly. "Thank you. Why'd you drop in? I don't expect it was a friendly visit."

"It is, in a certain manner. I came to thank you for the work you performed here today. I am sorry you were injured." His voice was monotone as ever, but I appreciated his words.

"I assume there was more at stake than a cracked skull, so we didn't come out too bad. What is it you wanted?"

"I do not want anything." Castiel said in explanation. "I am a celestial being. We do not need sustenance, nor possessions, as we are already perfect."

"Arrogance is an unattractive trait." I muttered. Castiel cocked his head and squinted in his look of confusion and I shrugged. "Get to the point."

"All...righty then. What you've just bore witness to was the rising of the witnesses, one of the sixty-six seals required to open a door, which I assume you have already been informed would bring the apocalypse."

I nodded. "I already know all of this. I've heard whispers among the demons. They plan on setting Lucifer free."

"Yes, that is their mission. We, need to stop it. The work we have chosen for you, I have heard you began to reason your goal in the long run. I was instructed to make you aware, so you continue doing God's work."

My eyebrows furrowed and I clenched my fists. "When haven't I done God's work?" I snapped. "Taking care of demons, losing families, working on translating Angel frequency!"

"We aren't doubting you, Sarah." Cas assured. I calmed slightly but still fumed, my skin pricking with irritation. "Now, you appear to be waking up, as I am losing grip on you. Keep working. I will visit you again soon enough."

I nodded wordlessly, standing up, and everything flashed.

As I rose out of slumber and became aware of the world around me, the greatest change I noticed was the pain that had vanished out of my head, and I silently thanked Castiel for that, though bitterly. Without opening my eyes, I could hear the thrum of the refrigerator coming to life, the tick of a clock, and someone else's breathing adjacent of me. My eyelids fluttered as they opened, adjusting to the lamp light in the corner of the room, bathing the room in a copper hue, like a sepia photograph. I yawned and sat up against the arm of the couch I still rested on, turning to my left to see Sam sitting in another chair by me, reading a book. He looked up at the sound of my movement.

"Hey. You're awake." He said softly. I looked up towards the clock I'd heard ticking a moment ago. It was shortly after three in the morning.

"Hi," I answered, my throat scratchy. I cleared it quietly, aware that Bobby and Dean were asleep somewhere else in the house. "I am. What are you doing awake?"

Sam shrugged his long shoulders. "I wanted to keep an eye on you. You knocked your head up pretty well."

I snickered and looked down. "Yeah. I'm good at injuring myself as badly as possible."

"I'll remind myself to watch your back a little more, then." Sam joked, the corner of his lips lifting as he smiled lopsidedly. He was like a puppy, I swear.

"Oh, you've already been watching my back?" The double meaning of my words didn't escape Sam's notice and he blushed as was becoming usual with my harmless joking.

"I swear you live to see me squirm." Sam grumbled, reaching up to fix the collar of his plaid shirt, loosening it.

I laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in a long time, and it felt purifying as it bubbled through my chest. "I'll make a point to live up to that."

Sam threw me a distraught look, and then his face fell into serious patterns. His brows lowered, jaw setting, but somehow his eyes transitioned between hardening in stubbornness and softening in understanding when he spoke his next words. "So, about earlier, when you spoke to the spirit that had found you: That was your Dad?"

I nodded, feeling my teeth grind against each other as I worked to keep my composure. "Yes."

"Was he a good man?" I threw Sam a look of confusion.

"Why would that matter?"

"I think it would help me better understand." He answered reassuringly and, to my dismay, I was reassured. I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully, trying not to think too hard.

"He was a practical man. He lived a positive life, and he was fiercely loyal to those he loved, even if he had to turn against another person he cared about to protect them. He made an honest living as a journalist for the town paper, don't ask me to relay the name of the paper because I honestly don't remember anymore. He died when I was very young."

Sam nodded, and asked softly, "May I ask how?"

"I don't want to talk about it." I answered honestly, my voice taking on a gravelly tone and I cleared my throat again. The younger Winchester, bless his heart, didn't probe me for any more details and instead reached out and squeezed my hand, which had dangled off the couch during my rest. I tightened my fingers around his in appreciation.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice soothing. "Why would you believe it was your fault? If you were young, how could you have saved him?"

I looked right into the hazel eyes searching my features carefully, and answered with a deep honesty in my eyes that made most people cringe, "I could have screamed." I gave no further explanation, and did nothing more to clarify my vague answer as Sam had no idea what the situation had been and the importance of my mistake, but he did nod and let go of my fingers. I let my hands rest in my lap, fingers laced together.

"I'm going to head to bed now that I know you're okay. We have a long day tomorrow, Dean and I."

I nodded in understanding. "More hunting I take it?"

"More hunting." Sam confirmed with a slight bitterness to the answer. I could relate to just wanting to relax for a while. "Goodnight, Sarah."

"Goodnight, Sammy."

Sam made a face as he left. "Don't call me that."

"I live to watch you squirm~" I sang gently, and his soft scoff echoing in the darkness and he disappeared upstairs. I smirked to myself, then leaned back and thought about the previous day.

I stayed awake after Sam left, having gotten a full nine hours which was more than I was used to. With a nice tall glass of chocolate milk in front of me, I neatly handwrote Latin across the pages of my notebook, making sure the brief explanation I'd scribbled down the night before this was expanded upon for further reading, and on top of that copied the information I'd had relayed to me during my deep slumber in the back of my head. I was just finishing up and putting the cap back on my pen when in the dead silence of morning's gray light I finally heard Dean's nearly silent approach unlike I'd been able to yesterday morning. He looked spooked, his cropped hair sticking up in strange angles, dark circles under his green eyes. He'd had the decency to throw on a black t-shirt and jeans, but lacked socks, plaid, and his coat like I'd seen him in before. His gaze fell on me as I sipped at my chocolate milk, probably looking just like the eight year old I felt like while drinking the beverage, and smiled cheerily up at him.

"Good morning." I whispered. I checked the clock in the front room again. It was only a bit before six am. I knew Sam would sleep in, but not even he would've been awake at this time like Dean obviously was. "What are you doing up so early?"

He shrugged, opening the fridge and pulling out a pie that I hadn't noticed had been there the night before. I gave a questioning look, which he answered with, "Sam owed me. He made me read! I don't read."

I snorted and chuckled. "No, of course not."

Dean continued on to cut himself a piece, carefully placing the packaging back in the fridge like it was a delicacy, and sat across from me, eating his first bite of apple pie. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and I went back to reading through the script I'd written, translating diligently, when he finally spoke up, "You heard from Castiel lately?"

My eyes flashed up from the paper. "Yes. Last night, as a matter of fact."

"Really? And did he tell you about...about the demons' plan, and the seals and all that?"

"Uhhuh." I answered. "Is that what made you so uneasy?"

"Well, yeah." Dean said, looking at me as though I was crazy. "Didn't it make you a bit unsettled?"

"Not necessarily." I replied, "I had already knew what was happening for the most part, because-" I continued when he flashed me a disbelieving glare. "I work primarily with demons. And, believe it or not, some of them extend their gratitude once I do my service."

"There is a lot more here than you're letting by, isn't there?" Dean asked tensely. I casually shrugged.

"I could say the same to you."

His eyes flashed to the wall in thought before he shrugged and let it drop. "So...Lucifer, huh? The devil himself might be walking among us." He made a conscious effort to make his words sound mystical and I raised an eyebrow, grinning.

"Scared?"

"Are you?" Dean challenged, leaning in with a smirk on his lips and darkness to his green eyes. I licked my lips before continuing, watching his gaze drop down to them interestedly.

"Not a bit." I said nonchalantly, closing my notebook and setting it away in my backpack which I had retrieved from the room I'd slept in upstairs. When I looked up to judge the reaction my disinterest had on Dean I burst into a fit of giggles at his bewildered look.

"Is that so?" Bobby's voice in the doorway made my laughter stop and Dean jumped slightly.

"Damn it, Bobby." Dean growled.

"It is." I said, my voice light but rising as I realized that everyone was probably awake by now. I didn't think Sam would really pay attention to our conversation and just continue sleeping, with any luck. "The angels are working against the demons. I'll be back on the playing field doing my fair share soon enough. We have allies, and the demons are idiots. But if Lucifer were to rise, if we could find a way to stop him between us, an army of angels, and hunters tired of demons, don't you think that defeating the boss would be our best bet at finishing a lot of work we've all been working at for years? Attacking the source, with this much gun power, is definitely a good thing."

"Not when it's a moving target and most of our arms aren't marksmen but grunts." Bobby disagreed.

My lower lip jutted out and a shrugged. "Interesting point. Still, I'm not exactly scared. However, I have plenty of time to get myself all worked up."

"No need to get scared. I'll protect you." Dean threw me a charming smile, and I returned the gesture. "So what are your plans for today?"

"I'm going to head out, start investigating more omens. Now that I have my ride back, I can finally leave you all alone."

Dean and Bobby began to snap. "I _told_ you-"

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard." I waved off. "So what do you two plan on doing?"

"Sam and I are heading out today too, just going back to regular hunting for the moment. This'll be the first time we actually track some monsters, since..." He trailed off unsteadily, though his excitement before he remembered was infectious, and I played along with it for his benefit.

"Do you have any leads yet?" I asked.

"It won't take long. I just need Sam to get researching once he drags his lazy ass out of bed."

I picked my backpack up, sliding it onto my shoulders. "Well, good luck with all of that. I'll keep in contact whenever I have some information." I promised, slipping my number on a torn piece of lined paper onto the dining room table. "Thanks for everything, Bobby. I appreciate it."

"Well, no thanks necessary." He replied, going red in the neck. I got the feeling he wasn't used to being thanked and made a mental note to do so more often.

I turned to Dean, "Good luck, eh? Let me know if you hear anything from Cas."

"Yeah, you too." He replied.

"And tell your brother I said thank you as well." I waved behind me, walking out into the grounds, finding my motorcycle easily, and driving off into the autumn wind, my coat fitting to my shape, my hair in its pony tail hitting the back of my helmet, and my backpack secure on my shoulders.


	5. Chapter 5: Death of a rose

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, I'd probably have broken peoples heart twice as many times by now.

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Chapter 5; Sarah

The process in which the nightmares or prophecies occurred was alarmingly orderly, in a pattern I'd grown to know and follow, yet the minute I fell asleep all memory of the steps evaded me and startled me, just as it did the first time nearly a week ago.

It was always the same place, the same view and smells and sounds.

Vivid, scarlet red petals lay across the gray, dark soils I stare upon. A small flicker of my eye and I see the source; a blood-red rose, with perfect petals in an elegant bloom. It was beautiful, life and color in a place of death and darkness. It smells sweet and faint, scent magnified by the glistening dew gliding down its stem. I breathe it in and brush my fingertips over the satiny smooth scarlet flower.

My eyes lift, awakening me to not one, but a thousand perfect red roses coloring the light, hardened dirt beneath the palms of my hand. It was unbelievable, thinking such beauty could erupt from dead, hard, lifeless soil, but a miracle I could not deny.

Finally I take my first breath since I was awakened to this magical place, fluttering through my lips, parted in awe. I watched a cloud rise above me; my warm breath battling the frigid harshness of the wintery air surrounding me. All at once goose bumps rose over my skin and my hairs stood on end as I gazed up at the stormy skies, a deep violet colour. The dense clouds rolled by quickly and thunder rumbled, making the earth beneath my feet quake in fear.

My meadow was surrounded by black, lifeless trees that seemed to be tearing across the skies, ripping apart the illusion of magic in the rose valley and making the nightmarish beauty more of a reality.

Embedded in the trunk of a nearby tree was a pair of initials that I disregarded, as if understanding its story before I'd even stolen a glance. Somehow I did, as my heart would always clutch in hurt at whatever memory the initials reminded me of.

And I gazed forward finally, peering through a wide entry to my meadow and squinting, drinking in the detail of the hillside and up to a lonesome, broken tower.

The tower missed its companions, the moat and the draw bridge. Without them he crumbled in on himself, revealing a weak entrance to the staircase that spiraled its way up to his heart. In this defenselessness, he was vulnerable to corruption and more fragile emptiness. The strange dark beauty of a meadow lay behind his broken form, where I was relaxed among my stormy skies and crimson petals. On his opposite side, I saw the sun beams dance through his windows, but he refused to turn and face them.

After I'd taken in my surrounding, the whispers would begin. I knew there were only a few, maybe five or six, but it sounded like an entire choir. Each voice sounded like a man, a woman, a little girl and boy, and an elderly citizen. There was no sure persona to them. I never saw their forms, but I could see where they danced around my meadow, their footsteps making the grass bow, curl under their talons, toes, paws, fins, and feet. Suddenly, a jolt of pain would flood my chest as one accidentally crushed one of my beloved roses.

A flash and crack of lightning would strike right before me, and from it someone I feared or loathed would appear, only to yell at me with a sound so sharp I would jolt awake.

Then, as I was completing at the moment, I would pull out my notebook and write everything.

Of course, the notebook had become more of a journal in the weeks that had passed since I'd started having the visions. In the midst of printing out the stories I was told, there were names, dates, addresses and phone numbers to contacts I'd acquired while looking for activity in the surrounding areas. Most currently I'd caught word of livestock deaths and blackouts in Detroit, as well as a string of deaths with seemingly no pattern. I'd been surprised when the contacts number had flashed across my screen for this particular case. She was an old family friend of mine, who I hadn't talked to since I had been about ten years old.

"Hello?" I'd answered, meaning for it to be a greeting but a twist of confusion invaded my tone. I'd cleared my throat quickly thereafter, trying to retain my previous authoritative tone and not sound like the little kid I felt like as I read over the number on the phone.

"Hello, this is Penelope Connolly. Is this Sarah Casey?"

"Ms. Connolly! I thought I recognized the number- I never would have guessed you would keep it this long, however." Laughter had filtered through the phone line, and I grinned slightly.

There was a sigh as the woman calmed herself on the other end of the phone, "Yes, well, with so many other things changing this would be a minor surprising detail, wouldn't it be? I haven't spoken to you in forever, I miss having you just down the road."

I felt a swell of happiness at her words, and lightheartedly commented. "I don't particularly miss living there, but I do miss the neighborhood. I should visit soon."

Silence. "Yes, well, that's what I called you about."

"Oh?" Interest colored my tone, "How so?"

Mrs. Connolly's voice lowered dramatically, as though she were afraid someone would hear. "I know what you have been up to lately. I heard you have been in contact with the Winchesters."

"Well, yeah. I stayed at Bobby Singer's with them a while back. Rufus and I went up to help them with a job- Wait, you wouldn't understand a word of what I'm saying." I laughed nervously.

"You've become a hunter. I know about that kind of life. Mr. Connolly was one."

My face fell. "...Oh."

"I think you should check out the town. There have been some disturbances and a collection of murders that I need someone to get to the bottom of. Heaven knows that Timothy Ronder isn't going to be able to understand."

"Wait- Jeremy Ronder? As in the senior who went to my highschool the last year I was there?"

"He's the police chief now."

"You have /got/ to be kidding me." I muttered. "I can see your point."

"Alright? Now you get down here, and you go straight to my house so I can see you. Then we can talk all the information I know and you can head out to the police station. You don't have any other work you're doing now, do you?"

"No, I don't. I have leads, but they haven't made much progress. I'll be there in a few days."

I'd hung up and packed my bags immediately, though begrudgingly. I hesitated at the door, half eager to see what had happened in town and half terrified to be confronted by the one person who I'd run from to begin with. Hopefully I'd be able to avoid them as I completed the job...

I was on my way to my home- Detroit, Michigan. The thought seemed almost foreign to me, so I brushed it out of my mind on my way to the police station where I was going to meet an old acquaintance. It would be strange, not being able to keep undercover and use an alias when I'd be recognized by so many people almost right away. As I swung my leg over the bike to stand myself up and made my way through the pristine glass doors, positioned up three marble stairs, I only prayed that word of my arrival wouldn't escalate as quickly as I knew was possible.

I pushed open the doors, my heels clicking intimidatingly across the floor. They were midnight blue, matching the plunging neck and back line dress that fit to my form closely, trying to look matured. My wavy hair was smoothed back into a high pony tail, light makeup adorning my features to polish down my imperfections. I held a dark clutch by my stomach, the contents ranging from my badge, to money and my car keys, and spare bobby pins for lock picking. My dagger was at home with Ms. Connolly, as I couldn't make it look natural in my current formal wear to have it hidden against my body. It made me feel slightly naked without the familiar weight resting on my hip.

"How may I help you?" The receptionist asked from beneath her thick-lensed glasses, eyes never wavering from her screen where she was completing a data sheet of current incident reports. She was elderly, wrinkles creasing her skin and her thin lips chapped. She was the kind of woman you didn't bother to approach if you were looking to get in trouble, because you'd be running out the door with a broom waving in your wake, and it wouldn't have the same ring as leaving a younger less qualified victim looking dumbfounded and disoriented. A good tactic to have in the very front of a sheriff's office.

"Hello. I'm here on the recent case. It concerned a friend of mine in town, so she gave me a call and my supervisor approved of my decision."

The woman looked up at me, evaluating my presence for a calculating moment. Seeming to be pleased with what she saw, she replied, "Yes. Such a wide margin of different victim profiled would draw in the attention of the feds. Might I see your badge?"

"Certainly." I said with a smile, unclasping the hinge of my clutch and slid my gold identification towards her. The woman checked for key requirements and nodded to herself before sliding it back towards me. I put it away properly.

"Okay, darlin. I appreciate your concern, Ms. Casey, but I have to inform you that our sheriff has already got enough on his sleeve, and it isn't necessary to-"

"Meredith." A young man in a tailored suit walked into the room, a gun on his hip, with a a perfectly shaven amount of stubble along his jaw line and short hair. He was looking at the woman as he spoke, "Who has arrived-?" His eyes met mine and recognition lit his expression. "Sarah."

I smiled and held my hand out to him, "Hello, Sherriff."

Jeremy's eyes quickly slid over my form, and I was aware he'd not seen me in many years, since I was a kid, and I'd developed a lot more than even I'd thought possible. I'd been a chubby kid, and I'd slimmed down at thirteen into skin and bones that I decided I didn't like. I'd eaten like a pig, was teased for a year or so, until I began to work out and exercise. My training as a hunter helped too, eventually, and now I had killer toned legs and arms, but still maintained my prominent hips and collar bones. My chest wasn't so bad either, it was definitely noticeable but easy enough to support while I was working out as well. My facial features were usually settled into seriousness, though there was a flirtatious quirk to my lips that I'd had mentioned to me many times before, and a sarcastic arch to my eyebrows, which framed my dark lashes and high lighted my grey eyes. Jeremy swallowed. "Y-You look good."

"You're not half bad yourself." I replied. He had filled out of his gangly limbs and developed the form of the athlete he'd always been in high school. His jaw was more chiseled and he held himself in a way that spoke of purpose and motivation. I chewed on the inside of my lower lip gently as I regarded him.

"Sarah? As in, the Sarah Casey?" Meredith asked, with astonishment in her voice. "I've heard about your case. I was in training back then, still, but it's truly horrible what happened to you, Ms. Casey. I'm very sorry."

I nodded. "No apologies needed. I'm making the best of a bad situation. I'm helping people and making sure what happened to me never has to happen to them. So, may I see the bodies and the files? I'd like to get a head start on it, and I'll start picking up on the case tomorrow."

"Of course, Sarah. Right this way." Sheriff Ronder replied, leading me into the station. Meredith looked around for the file I would retrieve on the way out. "Now, there isn't a lot here, but what there is is a whole new level of crazy."

"How so?" I asked as we turned, and I nodded politely at a janitor making their way through the halls, a broom in his hand.

"Well, see for yourself." We turned into the morgue, and Jeremy reached a sector and tugged it open, revealing an young man, barely my age. There were hardly any signs for cause of death, but all the veins right by his heart that once pumped to the rest of him were blackened. My brows pulled together.

"Poison?" I suggested. Jeremy shook his head.

"No signs of any substance in his blood. Also, there was something else. He was covered in blood when we discovered him, and with no wound we immediately tested a sample. Turns out it was lamb blood."

My nose wrinkled in disgust, "Woah."

"Woah is right." Jeremy agreed. He pushed the compartment in and pulled out another one, this one making me cover my nose. He bore the same marks of the first victim I'd seen, and was pale white and judging by the smell was the first victim. "This is another of the men. And there is a final, more recent victim." There was a pinch between Jeremy's eyes as he slowly made his way to the final compartment near the edge of the room. He took a deep breath through his mouth, blowing it out his nose, then tugged the metal bed open.

"Oh, no..." I moaned, looking down at the final victim. There were freckles across his cheeks, his messy blonde hair hung in muddy curls around his face, and he bore the same marks as the other two before him. There was a strangeness to the way his mouth settled around his teeth and I gently pushed open the flesh, seeing the missing front tooth. The boy was hardly ten years old.

Jeremy looked ancient as he looked at the young child. "This was your first young victim, I take it."

He nodded, closing the compartment and turning around to face me. "I want to find whoever did this, and I want them to suffer."

I nodded. "I don't think I need any more evaluation. I'll go get the file, now. I'll return if I catch onto a lead." It was a lie, but he didn't know it. At least he looked slightly assured. I had a respect for what Jeremy was doing. He wasn't half as bad as sheriff as I had expected the once cocky jock I'd known in high school would have been. We'd all grown up in the years that had passed.

I approached the front desk feeling a tremor of the burden on my shoulders, and an obligation to get to the bottom of this case swiftly for all the men and the boy I'd seen in the morgue. As I turned the corner to see Meredith, I forced another smile while I picked up the files awaiting me on the edge of the desk. "Thank you."

"No, thank you." Meredith replied, then reached out and clasped my free hand in two of hers cold ones. "Bless you."

I tilted my head down in acknowledgement, muttering as I left the room, police station ceiling opening into endless sky above me, "I don't think that will help me."

The house before me wasn't all that old, but it held an undeniable charm and familiarity. Vines now tangled and turned like long fingers through creases of the gray stone that made up the side of the house, threading themselves through wooden bars gracefully. White blossoms covered that side of the house, fluttering into the golden grass below, and mingling with the shades of fire that burst to life along with the birth of autumn. The chimney was breathing a thin wisp of gray smoke and through the front room window I could see the fireplace alight and glowing.

My steps were a bit lighter as I made my way to the front door, knocking on the intricately etched carvings on the oak door and awaiting eagerly for an answer.

There was a slight movement and then the deadbolt unlocked and the door scraped open. Mrs. Connolly was shorter than I'd remembered but maybe that was because I had to look up at her when I last visited her. Her curly hair was no longer darkened, and instead was grayed and shoulder length, becoming wavy in her age. Her face was feathered with laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, her forehead creased. When she smiled up at me, there was still a spark of life in her blue eyes that inspired one in my own, her happiness as infectious as usual.

"Sarah Lynn Casey!" She cried. "You have grown all too much! Come here, give an old woman a hug!"

I kneeled down and hugged her as she squeezed my shoulders lovingly. "Hey, Mrs. C. You're still looking good."

"You flatter me." She said, waving her hand to brush off my compliment. She grasped clutched my arm and pulled me into the house, closing the door behind her. It smelled nice inside, like flowers and baking. The floor was warm beneath my socked toes when I stepped across it after tugging off my muddy boots. "Can I get you anything?"

"Do you, maybe, have some chocolate milk?" I asked sheepishly.

Mrs. Connolly chuckled softly. "Some things don't change, do they?" She poured me a tall glass and I greedily chugged it down in between paragraphs, catching up with my old friend.

"Have you spoken to anybody else in town at all? Like your Mother?"

I frowned at the mention of her. "No. I haven't spoken to her in a few years. I used to send her letters to let her know how I was doing, but she never responded. So I figured, you know..." I searched for the word, not wanting to be rude.

"Fuck her?" Mrs. Connolly finished for me. I raised an eyebrow but laughed.

"Exactly."

"And what about your Dad? Are you going to visit him?"

"I wasn't planning on it." My voice went dramatically quieter, and there was a thickness and weight on my answer that I couldn't even comprehend myself. I suppose it was grief, and guilt.

"Well, that's not my decision or anything, but sometimes to forgive yourself, you need to face what you've done wrong. Or what you haven't, in this case. I think he'd like to know you visited him before you see him in heaven, don't you think?"

I lowered my head, "How can you have so much faith in heaven, Mrs. Connolly?"

"When you've seen the things I have, you will soon believe in it yourself. I think the hardest part is believing that you deserve to go there, once all is said and done."

I nodded to myself, glancing up when she rose. "Well, it's late for this old geezer, and I've got to hit the hay. You make yourself at home wherever you need to, I will see you in the morning for breakfast."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Connolly."

"Please, call me Penelope."

"Penelope." I corrected myself, watching as she ascended the stairs and left me sitting on a loveseat in the living room. I collected my bearings and moved through the house as quietly as possible, finding a computer room at the end of the house near to the backyard with a single window, bookcase, and a desk with an expensive looking laptop upon its surface. I hung my backpack on the back of the computer chair, pulling out my notebook and setting it next to the device, opening and turning it on simultaneously. As I turned around, I almost ran smack dab into a dark shirt and green jacket wearing chest.

"Hi!"

"God dammit Gabriel!" I yelled, covering my mouth and looking down the hall to see if Penelope had heard. The room was still for all of half a second before Gabe circled around me and opened the profiles and the notebook, looking through all of my current information. He wore an amused grin the whole time. "Do you find this funny?!"

"I find it hilarious." He replied, his gold eyes flashing up to meet mine, making my heart do a stupid little flip that I hated as he looked back down at my work. "What's all this? Why're you back in Detroit?"

"Connolly called me in for a case. There have been a few murders, which isn't all that uncommon, I suppose." I shrugged. "But the range of victims is off-setting."

"Connolly? As in Gregory Connolly?" Gabe looked excited.

"No. He died a while ago, or so I've been told. Why? What difference does that make?"

Poor Gabe looked suddenly very bored. "Oh. He used to be on my trail, I got him good a few times. It would have been fun to make a surprise return."

I rolled my eyes. "Anyways, what can you make of these victims?" I flipped open the rest of the files he hadn't yet. "They're all men. No age range, no specific family, all living in different areas living different lives. Some on their own, others had a family." Sighing deeply as my gaze grazed over the young boys heath records, I noted a small detail that twisted the knife in my gut that was already lodged all too deep. He'd had a cold earlier that month, a minor ear infection and a sinus infection. I shook off the image of the snot nosed kid that was nothing like the boy I'd seen on the table. "Do you think this is the demons? Is it a seal?"

"Likely." Gabriel said, looking at the blackened hearts of the victims. "I just can't tell which seal it is."

"I'm questioning the families tomorrow; I'll tell you when I know anything more." I sat down in the chair, spinning it and logging into the search engines, before getting an idea and searching the book shelves. With gold lettering I found the title of the book I was searching for, and the angel in the room snorted.

"The Holy Bible? Really? Haven't I told you how faulty that thing is?"

"Any other suggestions?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. He huffed but went quiet. He watched as I set up.

"Word on the street is you've met and teamed up with the Winchesters." He finally stated after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah I did, the once. I checked out Georgia, by the way. Nothing was left in that small town, it was completely wiped out. The demons broke that seal already."

"They must have been ready, seen the angel going for Dean Winchester and got to work as soon as possible."

I set my hand on the page I was on, looking up. "You knew about that?"

"Angel Frequency is a very reliable source, beautiful."

"Where have you been, anyways?"

"Kicking ass."

"Right. Always the joker."

"He's a good role model."

"Gabe."

"I can't help it." He snickered.

I took a deep breath. "So what's your point about the Winchesters? Not just casual conversation, I assume?"

Abruptly the Trickster's face settled into serious tones. "You shouldn't hang out with them, beautiful. It will only get you in trouble."

"My whole existence spells disaster, Gabe." I went back to work.

"Honestly, though, they aren't the best company."

"I know what I'm doing, Gabriel." I didn't take my eyes off the paper.

"Sarah." Immediately I became attentive. He never spoke my name unless it was perfectly necessary. "Just...watch yourself, if anything. I'll see you around, let me know if you get anything else on this case." With a flutter of his wings, he had disappeared right before me. I stared at the spot he'd been for a long moment, trapped in thought.

With a shake of my head and a refill of my glass of chocolate milk, I delved into research for the rest of the night.

"I know this must be very hard for you, Mr and Mrs Bents. I'm with the FBI, and I just needed to ask a few questions for myself to get my information on the case. There have been a few other murders, and I'm investigating around town. How was your son? Did he have many friends, know a lot of people around the neighborhood?"

While Mrs. Bents immediately turned to the tissues and dabbed her eyes and blew her nose, it was her husband that answered my question. "Joseph was a good boy. He loved everyone, and everyone loved him."

"He was so excited for Halloween this year." Mrs. Bents whimpered. "He was going to go as a superhero, and save the little girl down the street he's friends with, Laurie. She was going as a reporter, Lois Lane. Now, he won't even see..." She sobbed hard and continued to cry.

I nodded looking down. "I'm sorry. This must be a hard time. When I came in and heard about his case, I was moved. I will get to the bottom of this. I swear it."

The fire in my chest seemed to filter in my eyes and Mr and Mrs. Bents looked reassured. "I'm sure you have more questions." Mrs. Bents said.

"Where was he the night of his death?" I asked.

"He was home, playing with his younger brother and sister upstairs. We were just about to tuck them in bed, when we heard Chelsea scream."

"Chelsea was his sister?"

"Yes." Mr. Bents replied. "She isn't taking this all too well. She's with my Mother now. She hasn't spoken since."

I felt a pang of pain. "Did you notice anything strange before it happened?"

"No. I was fixing the T.V. The connection blew or something, I don't even know anymore..." A pain invaded the Father's voice. "It was acting up. I would have been up there sooner, if that damn thing hadn't fucked up."

"Robert!" Mrs. Bents scolded his language, but I waved it off.

"It's fine. I think I know everything I need to, I'll tell you of anything I may discover. Again, I'm very sorry for your loss."

They nodded, and I left.

For the life of me, I couldn't figure it out.

I sat at home for hours, watching a soap opera with Penelope and seeing right through the screen. There was absolutely nothing I could think of.

The first man, the eldest, had no family but a daughter, who told me his brother and parents had long since passed at the time of his sudden end.

The second man's wife was inconsolable still, but his younger sister spoke to me. Once again, no outstanding factors, but there were electrical failures before his time of death.

And the boy's family. He was loved, and happy, just like most other young kid his age.

"Theresa's husband is a liar." Penelope grumbled. "His first son was with another woman, his second son was with another different woman, and if he believes the third won't be his for once, he's got another thing coming. My first son, Joey, you remember him? He was a good boy. Looked just like his Father, no doubt about it."

I opened my mouth to answer her, but then it finally clicked.

First son.

I remembered a biblical tale. Moses, demanding Israelite children have freedom in Egypt, was denied and God sent a plague, killed the cattle, and finally-

-Killed all first born sons of the Egyptian families, whose doors weren't marked with lambs' blood from a sacrifice to the Lord.

The demons were reversing the tale, bathing them in the blood and leaving them dead in front of God's eyes like a warning: All who stand with Him shall be slaughtered like lambs.

"dammit." I muttered in disbelief, then finding the connection I flew up out of my seat and ran to the computer room.

The pattern was a simple one, but hard to follow. The demons had covered their tracks well as they had done their work: An elderly man, a middle-aged man, a child-

And soon to be an infant.

I closed the door tightly behind me. "Gabe! Gabe, I need help!"

Within a moment of saying the prayer, Gabriel appeared before me, looking around with the silver glint of his angel blade seen barely beneath the sleeve of his jacket. "Are you okay?"

"The first born sons." I said quickly. "They'll be going after a baby next, you need to find out where they are right now."

"On it." He said, leaving the room. I paced uneasily until he returned, grabbing my sleeve and suddenly I felt like I was being stretched through a tube, my feet remaining on the ground but my body flying through the air, and then I was standing on the pavement outside a house as the lights of the kitchen began to flicker. It was almost ten at night, and I could see the baby was in bed upstairs with a night light brightening the room. There was a shadow in front of the curtain, and I took off across the street, kicking open the door, hearing the screams of the parents as they got up from a romantic dinner at their table with the baby apparently resting peacefully. At the first glimpse of the black eyes my dagger was out of its sheath and I lunged at him, knocking him into the diaper table. He cried out angrily, a dark power in the palm of his hand, and pressed it into my shoulder, sending a fiery sensation through my flesh. I screamed, but plunged the knife into his chest and he was louder for another few seconds before falling silent. The other woman in the room, screaming in rage, disappeared as I stood up, the black smoke rising up from her borrowed persona and she fell to the ground. The Father of the infant ran into the room, pulling his child up as quickly as he would allow and bellowed at me in rage to get out. Against the relief of the child's next sob of fear, his anger did nothing to dissipate my feeling of success, and before I knew it a hand had caught onto my jacket and I was pulled right back up to the computer room where I tumbled onto the ground, breathing heavily, and leaned my head back against the desk and closed my eyes.

"He's okay. He's okay." I kept muttering between gasps, tears in my eyes. The fear for his life was catching up with me, my adrenaline draining, and I felt the burden lift from my shoulders with a cleansing rush of success. Gabe knelt in front of me, smoothing down the top of my fight-tousled hair, and soothed me as I cried for the other child I couldn't arrive quickly enough for and the other men's families who could never know.

I woke up the next morning on the couch, assuming Gabriel was to blame, and rubbed my eyes tiredly as I sat up. They were still very sore, and I was incredibly proud I'd saved the seal, though I knew now that I had to leave very, very soon to avoid questioning by the local cops.

The house was silent, the light filtering in through the window was still bleak and gray though dawn was quickly catching up to the town. As I stared above me, I watched the particles of dirt soaring above me glimmer in the early morning. I was so deep in contemplation about what today might bring with it that when I registered the light again, it was sunshine. I left a note for Penelope on a heavy piece of card paper that was in a tin on the kitchen counter.

Thanks for having me. Call anytime. XO. ~Sarah

I packed my bag, slipping on my boots and coat and made my way outdoors. Like a friendly reminder, my bike awaited me in the parking lot. However, before I could slip peacefully onto the bike to make my way downtown, a movement stopped me in my tracks, seven houses to my left.

A middle aged woman was crouching at the corner between the street and her parking lot, her small hands engulfed by a pair of tan gloves as she tended the garden that framed her front yard. Her long blonde hair already swished with her movement, and when she stood it slipped behind her shoulders, glowing in the morning sunlight. Her eyes- green, like nothing I'd seen anywhere else- flickered to the house that I peered at her cautiously from. I cursed to myself. Taking a deep breath, I waited for her to turn away and paced across the pavement to my bike, slipping my helmet on and swinging my leg over the seat to sit properly. I tucked all my hair away. I prayed she didn't recognize me as I drove past her and continued on into the street, where the morning traffic consisted of only a few cars either heading home from their night shift or going in for an early morning company.

I ventured on to a dirt road, lined with frost covered leaves, pearly white stones and statues rising from the ground like an army facing me with a cold look of reminder on their etched features. I parked my bike near a fence, away from the graveyard, and made my way in through the tall black gate.

I despised the shrinking feeling that whispered through my lungs as I treaded lightly over the leaf covered ground, through two unwavering, straight lines of polished white gravestones. I paused at a stone before the cover of a long branched oak, almost bare by this time of the season. I read the familiar name with a thick swallow as I remembered his restless spirit being arisen to voice to me what I always believed in the first place. It still hurts, every single day, and the pain of that would never go away, I was sure of it. I didn't believe in 'time heals all wounds'. You never do heal from something like this. You grow to cope with it in increments, finally being able to get them off your mind for long enough to function, and then being able to be happy though a dull ache still rests in the pit of your stomach when you realize you could be moving on. Finally, you are able to sit down and let yourself cry once in a while, just enough to diminish the pain that faded just to start creeping in, blooming in your heart again. Then you take a breath, take a step, and keep fighting. But it never goes away no matter how much time you are given.

"H-Hi, Daddy." I stammered, suddenly shivering. "I just wanted to visit you while I still have time. I'm okay, just so you know. I'm happy, and I've found more than enough for me to fight for. I deal  
with demons. I don't kill them… I just exorcise them. But still, if I'd been able to do that when you…. I could have saved you." My lower lip trembled and I bit it gently. I'd gotten good at not crying, yet still these tiny mannerisms took over when I became too emotional. It was a pain in the ass. "You wouldn't believe what I'm doing. I'm helping to stall the apocalypse. How many people could say they've had this much of an impact in protecting people, huh?" I paused again, then shuffled my feet and breathed deeply, my breath rising in the air, and I watched it disappear into the sunlight. "I like to believe I'm a good person. But who can honestly judge themselves on how right they are? We all think we have good intentions. I guess I just came to say that I'm ready to forgive myself for the night you died. To remind myself that I was just a kid, and screaming wouldn't have helped much. Probably would have gotten you stabbed sooner." I flinched at my own words. "I'm ready to be brave, Dad. I just wanted you to know. I'll try and visit you as soon as I can. Love you." I pressed a kiss to my fingers and let my fingertips gently fall onto the cold stone, the texture smooth but scratchy under my fingertips.

_Sarah stood in the front row of the pews, alongside her Mother, who was sobbing quietly into a pretty white handkerchief, a huge contrast from her black gown, billowing out to the heels of her feet. Her cries were met by pitying looks from a majority of the townsfolk, who had gathered to remember a life that had been a huge part of their community. _

_The smaller blonde's hands were still as they'd been that dreadful night only a handful of days ago; one hand on the arm of her beloved bunny, bringing her a wavering sense of comfort, the other fiddling with the golden cross, now attached around a simple silver chain and fastened around her neck. Her waist length blond ringlets were back in a high pony tail, and a specially tailored, long sleeved, knee length dress made of ebony silk adorned her petite form. She shuffled uneasily under all the scrutiny upon her, the black material of her dress emphasizing her ivory skin and highlighting the flush across her cheeks and neck. The eyes of so many people on her guilty form made her uneasy and embarrassed. _

_At the end of the service, her mother was sure to scold the obvious sign of her so-called conceitedness. "Sarah." She scolded. "This is not the time to be abashed." As she gracefully slid down the aisle to speak to more of the guests, Sarah heard her mutter, "What a disrespect." _

_Swallowing thickly, Sarah looked upon the casket at the front of the church. Sunlight washed through the glass mosaics, throwing color over the polished wooden structure. She could faintly smell the familiar scent of her Father's cologne, a touch by the mortician, but the little girl wasn't aware of any of that. She hesitated, before remembering her Father's last words to her, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply, thinking aloud, "Be brave."_

_For a long while, Sarah stood at the edge of the casket, just looking down within and holding her Father's cold hand in her own, running her thumb over his knuckles. She couldn't help but think he appeared to be just sleeping, dressed in a black dress shirt she knew hid the wound on his abdomen, and a pair of clean jeans. Sarah didn't like it- her Daddy never dressed like this. It wasn't right. She could almost imagine his breathing, his chest rising and falling subtly. The serenity of the atmosphere suddenly captured her and crystal tears cascaded down flushed cheeks, glistening gray eyes narrowing in an attempt to stop the glossiness from taking away the view of her Father, "Daddy?" She croaked, voice rough with disuse. "Daddy, I'm sorry I didn't call for you. I know this is my fault...I love you. I-I'm gonna miss you." _

_Sarah turned around, head bowed, and sniffed again. "I'll be brave, Daddy. I promise."_

_The child looked up, to survey the people in the room. She met the eyes of her Mother, then kind Ms. Connolly from down her road, and a few young people from her school looked at her without knowledge of what to say. There were only two people in the room she didn't know, one was a burly man with black hair and a good deal of stubble, who looked at her as though he understood what she had seen, but his eyes searched the room as he spoke to her Mother about the accident as though he were investigating the surrounding area. The other was a man around the same age, with combed blonde hair and the strangest golden eyes she'd ever seen. They were nothing like the milky yellow eyes that haunted her; they were more glittery, like amber, like there was something more than the eyes looking back at her. He nodded politely at her, and she touched the cross again, smiling sadly back, and walked down to stand silently at her Mother's side, as she finished up the conversation she was having with the dark-haired man. _

_"Hello." The man greeted her, "Are you Sarah?"_

_"Yes." She answered shyly, standing behind her Mother. _

_"Might I talk to her alone?" The dark-haired man asked, his hazel eyes drawing a trusting nature. Cassandra nodded and stepped aside._

_She nudged her child forward slightly, "Now, Sarah, answering whatever he asks. You'll know where to find me." _

_Sarah nodded and then Cassandra walked away. "Hello."_

_"Hi there. My name is John Winchester. I'm just going to ask you some questions about the last night you saw your Dad, okay?" _

_Sarah's resolve wavered, and her eyes shifted across the room to look at the golden eyed man again, who was now looking up at the coffin, and at the alert of her gaze he looked over and between the gruff man and her. He smiled at her reassuringly, and she sighed. _

_"Okay." She consented, drawing comfort from his presence in the room._

_"Can you tell me what you saw happened? Don't leave anything out, no matter how crazy it might sound." _

_"I..." The girl looked down and away, afraid to recall the events, and breathed a steadying breath, squaring her small shoulders. "I was lying in bed, and the lights started to go off, just like before when the monster came." _

_John's interest peaked. "The monster? Did you see him."_

_Sarah nodded wordlessly. _

_"What did he look like? Did anything stand out?" He asked in anticipation. Sarah looked up at him, a bit appalled by his sudden interest in her horror story. _

_"H-He had, um, yellow eyes. Like, crayon yellow, not like..." She looked behind John to the man again, but quickly looked away, not wanting to be rude and stare. _

_"Yellow eyes? And what did he do?" _

_"No, the man who came in my room had red eyes. The yellow eyed man was in my dreams, he told the monster what to do. The red eyed monster walked in my room, with a knife, when the lights went out. Before he could slam my door shut, my Daddy came upstairs to check on me. Then the yellow eyed man stabbed him, right in the belly, and Daddy cut his throat. But the other man didn't fall. Daddy did." Tears filled the young girl's eyes as she looked at the casket again. "And now he's gone, and I won't ever see him again. That's what everyone...what everyone..." Sarah didn't want to interrupt the interrogation but silently went back to collecting herself, lowering her head and forcing down the sob she knew would start them all._

_John nodded silently to himself, having all the information he needed, but pitying the girl. He smoothed down her hair, kneeling down. "I won't let him hurt anyone else, okay?" Sarah nodded as he disappeared from the church and then she watched a familiar black car drive by outside. _

_The gold eyed man watched on sadly, then, when no one was looking, disappeared from the room altogether._

* * *

AU: Favorite and follow if you enjoyed, I wanted to get a bit into Sarah's origin before I pressed her into the story line. Thank you for your support guys, I'm going to have a new chapter later next week, I need to really work on my update for The Suns Keeper, but I promise not to leave you waiting for too long. Review and tell me what you think ^_^


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